


Roll Out the Barrel

by JantoJones



Series: Modest Briefings (The 2nd 100) [35]
Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-28
Updated: 2019-01-28
Packaged: 2019-10-18 11:00:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 714
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17579594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JantoJones/pseuds/JantoJones
Summary: Napoleon and Illya meet a contact in a back-street London pub.





	Roll Out the Barrel

Napoleon felt ill at ease as he and Illya strolled through the night-time back streets of Lambeth, in South London. From the various pubs and inns they passed, there were the unmistakable sounds of men drinking, singing, and fighting. This wasn’t the hip and happening part of the city which was famous for its cosmopolitan bars and restaurants. This place was for the salt of the Earth working classes. In deference to the area, the two agents had dressed down in an effort to blend in. 

It had been decided that Solo would not speak unless it became necessary. There were many east European accents to be found in amongst the lower classes, but an American voice was rare, and would be liable to cause too much attention. Napoleon wasn’t entirely sure why he’d needed to come in the first place, but their contact man had insisted.

They reached the Three Horse Shoes pub, in which they were meeting their contact, but as Illya reached out to the door, it was suddenly opened form the other side. Orange light spilled out onto the street, along with a chorus of ‘Rollout the Barrel’ from a group of men who were all singing at different speeds. It swiftly followed by a large, inebriated man. A person who Napoleon was almost certain was a woman stepped out. She was shorter than Illya, but was built like a woman who knew what hard physical work was.

“Get away home, George Morgan,” she instructed, in a tone which brooked no argument. “I’ll not ‘ave that kind of bleedin’ language from the likes of you.”

“I never said nothin’ you don’t say yoursel’, Gertie.”

“Difference is, I own the place.”

She stood with her hands on her hips and waited for George to skulk off down the alley. As she turned to go back in, she noticed Napoleon and Illya staring at her.

“Are you two plannin’ on comin’ in, or not?”

The two agents came to their senses and followed the woman in. Neither of them wanted to be on the receiving end of her ire.

Once inside, they scanned the room for their contact. It was easier said than done. The whole room was thick with a fug of smoke from cigarettes and pipes. Eventually, Napoleon spotted Mark Slate. He was at the opposite side of the room from the piano and the Ill-timed singers. Even though they both knew Mark well, they had to give the sign and countersign to prove they were there for the same thing.

“I am in need of a shave,” Illya told him. “Where can I find Sweeny Todd?”

“You’re on the wrong side of the river, mate,” Mark replied. “You need to go to Fleet Street.”

The three men relaxed and smiled. Mark shook both men’s hands, and has he grasped hold of Napoleon’s he passed a folded up piece of paper to him. It contained the details of an international Thrush bigwig.

“Let me buy you a both a drink.”

“We need to head back with this,” Napoleon said, quietly.

“If you leave without drinking, it may look suspicious,” Illya reminded him.

Mark bought three pints of ale and, while he and Illya downed them in one, Napoleon took his time. The Brit and the Russian had drunk two more by the time he finished.

“They won’t let you on the flight if you’re drunk,” Solo whispered into his partner’s ear.

“Do not worry, my friend.” Illya told him, and clapped his and on his shoulder. “Waverly has okayed it for me to stay for an extra day. You are flying home tonight, and I am going on a pub crawl with Mark.”

“A pub crawl?”

“Yep,” Mark confirmed, handing Illya another pint. “I haven’t done it for years, and he is reliving his university days.”

Napoleon shrugged, before wishing them both a good night. He watched as they made their way across the bar room to join in with the singing; arriving just in time for another rendition of ‘Roll out the Barrel’. Knowing how much both men could drink, Napoleon was fairly certain more than one barrel would be required. He was just glad he would be out of the country when the bail money would be needed.


End file.
